


Designer Drugs

by sharkhette



Category: The Boys (TV 2019)
Genre: Casual Sex, Enthusiastic Consent, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:27:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27457993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkhette/pseuds/sharkhette
Summary: Hughie hadn't been in a great place since Robin's death. No shit: everybody knew that. So, if Frenchie wanted to help by offering sex and drugs and making him question his sexuality? Then yeah, sure. He'd absolutely take it.
Relationships: Hughie Campbell/The Frenchman
Comments: 17
Kudos: 56





	Designer Drugs

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime before the s2 finale, idfk. Translations are in the end notes. Do drugs responsibly, and drink lots of water!

So, Hughie hadn't been in a great place since Robin's death. No shit: everybody knew that. But he did his best to keep just how not-great he was doing to himself, and mostly, he succeeded. Except for that voicemail he left Annie. And that time he flat-out told Butcher he was suicidal. MM probably suspected more than he let on, and Hughie had caught Frenchie shooting him worried glances every so often. He and Kimiko mostly kept a polite distance from one another, so who knew what she thought about him, but it probably wasn't super flattering.

It was just kind of awkward. And Hughie couldn't exactly call up any of his old friends—or, god, his dad—and let them take him out and get him drunk and distract him with a good time, or at least an attempt at a good time. He'd end up crying in the corner, and then fucking Homelander or somebody would come crashing through the roof and kill them all, because Hughie was a fucking fugitive. What the fuck. No. He had the boys to talk to, or he had Annie, and that was it.

Butcher was out doing fuck knows what, MM was on a food run, Annie was…well, she was probably somewhere in Vought Tower, but she hadn't called him from her new phone yet, so he didn't know how to get ahold of her, and Kimiko wasn't the best option for a conversation to take his mind off things. Or any conversation at all.

Which left Frenchie.

He was bent over his worktable cutting a line of powder with a razorblade, humming along to his blaring French rap. Hughie sidled over with his hands in his pockets, eyeing the stuff from around Frenchie's shoulder. The guy was wearing plaid pants with a belt that wasn't actually in the loops, combat boots, and a crop top. Hughie hadn't figured out whether the fashion choices were a European thing or a Frenchie-specific thing. Wait—was he actually European? Or did he say he was from Algeria? That was in Africa. Hughie didn't know anything about African fashion.

"Hey, uh. What are you doing?"

Frenchie glanced back at him before snorting a line, straightening up, and brushing his nose on the back of his arm. He gave Hughie a bright smile. "Ah, is nothing. A little pick-me-up. You like to try?"

Hughie blinked. His most intense drug experience had been an overambitious pot brownie in college that sent him into an alternate universe where he could see time. Since then he'd stuck with smoking the occasional joint, and that was it. No hard drugs. Barely any soft drugs. Definitely no unidentifiable powders.

"Actually, you know what? Yeah, fuck it. Hit me up."

Frenchie raised his brows and offered Hughie the blade, gesturing for them to swap places at the table. Hughie took the blade gingerly and tapped it around the tabletop a few times, allegedly getting his line in order, but mostly stalling for time, because what if he just sneezed it straight back out again? What if he got a nosebleed? Fuck. Whose idea was it to snort this shit, anyway? Maybe he could just rub it into his gums. That was how some people did cocaine, right? Was this cocaine?

"Hughie?"

Hughie twitched and looked back to see Frenchie offering him a round pink pill, sitting in the middle of his outstretched palm. "This will be easier for you, no? Maybe you do not try my stuff right away."

Hughie picked up the pill. A tiny happy face winked back at him. "Um. Ecstasy?"

Frenchie nodded encouragingly. "You want something to make you feel better? This is the best MDMA I have, with the tiniest bit of LSD. And is not cut with any of that other garbage; you do not want that in your body. This is very safe."

Hughie doubted that, but he also doubted it was the most dangerous thing he'd done that week. "Okay. I'll just." Tipping his head back, he dry-swallowed the pill, instantly regretted it, and then swallowed the regret, too.

Frenchie thumped him approvingly on the shoulder. "My man!"

"Now what?"

"Now, you forget all your troubles."

"How long does that take?"

Frenchie shrugged. "Maybe half an hour? Come, I will distract you as we wait. Do you know how to strip a field rifle?"

"I really don't."

"Then you will learn."

Bemused, Hughie obediently followed Frenchie over to the battered old couch, sinking into the cushions as Frenchie pulled out the biggest fucking gun Hughie had ever seen, flinging himself down onto the couch beside him and launching into an explanation of gun anatomy. Half of it was in French. Hughie had started picking up a little of the language through sheer osmosis, but most of it was either swear words or pet names. He paid attention until he realized that he was melting into the couch, and then it was too late to recover the thread of whatever Frenchie was trying to explain.

"Now you try." Frenchie held out the gun and Hughie just stared at it.

"You know, I never actually touched a gun before I met Butcher?"

"Really? I would not have believed it. You are a natural."

Hughie tried to laugh. "I'm really not."

Frenchie set the gun aside. "With guns, maybe not, but the rest of it? Truly, Hughie, we are lucky to have you." He settled one hand on Hughie's shoulder, his touch warm and electric even through Hughie's t-shirt. "Butcher does not let people know how much they are appreciated, but he should."

"Yeah, no, he's pretty shitty about that," Hughie agreed. Frenchie's hand was still on his shoulder, the one point grounding him as the rest of his body began to feel like it was floating. Drugs, he thought absently. Thank fucking god. "The thing is, I don't actually want to be a natural at this? Like, killing people really isn't a skill I want to cultivate."

Frenchie hummed in possible agreement.

"I don't want to end up like him." An awful thought occurred to Hughie. "Holy shit, am I going to turn out worse than Butcher? Because Becca's fucking alive! If he actually pulls this off and they run away together, he could get away from all of this. He could have a normal fucking life again." He swallowed. "But Robin's definitely dead. Like, a hundred percent, definitely dead." Tears welled up like they always did when he said that out loud. Fuck.

"Ah, but you have Annie, no?" Frenchie asked softly. "You are not alone as he was."

"Do I have Annie, though?" Hughie pressed his fingers into his eyes until he saw stars. "Fuck. I don't know. And I don't want to use her as a crutch, you know? She's her own person with her own shit, not my emotional-support girlfriend. Not that she's my girlfriend at all," he added quickly. "Fuck. I'm sorry for spilling all this on you. I wanted a distraction and you wanted to teach me about guns. Now neither of us have what we want."

"No, no. It's good to talk about this." Frenchie slid in closer, his hand moving from Hughie's arm to around his shoulders, pressing them together side by side. "Butcher, he keeps everything inside, and it eats away at him like a cancer. You are better than that. You know how to ask for help." He smiled encouragingly, giving Hughie a squeeze. "Yes?"

"Yeah. Uh. This is me asking for help, I think."

Before Hughie really registered it, Frenchie was kissing him. Hughie blinked, too busy processing the sudden change from being held—hugged? side-hugged?—on the couch to being kissed, and how the sparking warmth he associated with Frenchie's hand was now spreading through his whole body, and how his lips were tingling like there was a current coursing through them to all his facial nerves. It felt like spearmint, and gold-and-red, if feelings had colors. He was pretty sure they did.

Then he realized what was happening and his face scrunched up and he curled back, laughing, his hands on Frenchie's shoulders to push him off. Or, he meant to push him off. Instead, he ended up just holding him an inch away from his face, their noses almost touching. Frenchie had really incredible eyelashes. Dark and really thick. His eyes were nice, too. That warm, rich brown, the same as Annie's. Darker than Robin's. He wasn't supposed to be thinking about either of them right now, especially when it wasn't either of them kissing him. That was rude, thinking of somebody else while you're getting kissed. What was he supposed to be doing, again?

Frenchie's breath was warm against his lips. "Ah, pardon. Je suis désolé. I always do this."

"It's okay," Hughie said faintly. They were still holding onto each other, their hands on each other's shoulders, knees bumping. It was kind of nice. No, it was definitely nice, feeling connected like this. He could feel Frenchie's energy running into him at every point of contact, and he shivered comfortably. "Wait. How long has it been?"

"Since you took it? Long enough, I think." Frenchie broke into a wide smile. "Your pupils, they are very large. Do you feel good?"

"Yeah, I really do." Hughie grinned helplessly. "Not like, scary-high, but definitely high."

"C'est bien. And you are not upset about the kiss?"

"Nah, it's cool."

Frenchie nodded. "When I tried to kiss Kimiko, she hit me. I deserved it, of course. I should have asked first. But it is my instinct, you know? I just wanted to make her feel better, and I do not know how to do that without drugs or kissing. So." He shrugged expansively. "But you did not hit me, so we are all good."

"I wouldn't have hit you."

"No, no. You are very gentle when you are not blowing people to pieces."

Hughie licked his lips and watched Frenchie follow the movement. His pupils were blown too, by whatever concoction of drugs he had swimming in his system. They were probably a fuckton stronger than the single hit of MDMA Hughie had taken, but Hughie doubted Frenchie's was hitting him as hard. Tolerance levels, et cetera. Not that he knew what he was talking about. Fucking drugs. God, he felt good, though.

"J'ai envie de t'embrasser," Frenchie said, his gaze still fixed on Hughie's mouth, and Hughie didn't need to know much French to guess that he was suggesting they do that again.

Hughie wasn't into guys. He'd never been interested, never even been really curious, and he'd been so happy with Robin that it had never crossed his mind to try out the other team. But it was probably an asshole move to say, "I'm straight," at the same time as thinking about how good Frenchie's mouth felt on his, so instead he said, "Yeah, why not," and leaned in to close the gap between them.

The second kiss was better than the first. Partly because Hughie was prepared for it, but mostly because the MDMA was really flooding his system now, and everything felt amazing. The warm pressure of Frenchie's lips against his, the scratch of his stubble—that was a new sensation, and he really didn't hate it—and the feeling that the room was opening up, expanding from the shitty, dingy little basement into the whole universe, like the roof had been popped off to let the stars and galaxies in. Hughie's head was spinning, starbursts crackling behind his eyelids when he shut them, and his chest was light like his whole body wanted to float away. He moaned into the kiss and Frenchie made a pleased sound and pushed him back against the couch cushions. Hughie went down easily, and after a brief fumble of knees and elbows, Frenchie was on top of him. They made out like teenagers, rubbing against each other without any regard for finesse, and fuck, it felt so good. Hughie slid both hands under Frenchie's shirt, running them up his back while pulling Frenchie down harder against him, canting his hips up to get that perfect friction going between their jeans. Frenchie pushed into every touch like a cat, his hands in Hughie's hair, against his chest, around his shoulders, and every inch of skin-to-skin contact burned like the best kind of fire.

"I should do drugs more often," Hughie gasped when they parted for air, and Frenchie laughed.

"There is an appeal, no? But maybe you save it for special occasions."

"Is this a special occasion?"

"Oui, certainement. Your first time trying ecstasy is always special."

"Not what I meant, but okay."

Frenchie moved his mouth down to Hughie's neck and Hughie dropped his head back, forgetting the point of the conversation. "Are you leaving marks?"

"Quelques-uns." Frenchie bit down, not hard enough to hurt, but enough for Hughie to arch up with a gasp and a curse. "Do you mind?"

"Fuck no, jesus, just don't stop."

Every bite felt like its own orgasm. He didn't care if he was black and blue after this—it felt too good to pull back, and maybe his impulse-control was a bit fucked up right now, but whatever. A couple of hickeys never killed anyone. He'd wear a scarf. Frenchie probably had one he could borrow.

Frenchie hit a spot at the side of his neck under his ear and Hughie saw the entire universe unravel and explode, raining stardust down from the ceiling that wasn't there anymore. "Oh god, oh fuck, hang on, I'm going to come."

Frenchie sat up far enough to look him in the eye. He seemed amused, if slightly judgmental. "Vraiment? Okay. You want to stop?"

"No, I want—" What did Hughie want? He wanted to come, but the particulars were way beyond him. "I want you," he said, because he knew that much.

Frenchie flashed him a grin and slid off the couch and onto his knees, grabbing Hughie by the hips to plant his feet on the floor on either side of Frenchie's legs. "Okay. Then I am going to blow you. You want that?"

"What the fuck," Hughie said breathlessly. "Do people actually say no to that?"

Frenchie shrugged, already working Hughie's jeans open. "You would be surprised. I offered to blow Butcher once, and he did not want it. Maybe it was too soon after losing Becca, but eh. I am not trying to replace anyone, you know? I just thought it would make him feel better."

Zipper down, he slipped one hand inside, toying with the waistband of Hughie's underwear. Hughie was going to scream if he didn't get Frenchie's hand on his skin soon—or his mouth, fuck—but also, he was distracted by the image of him blowing Butcher. In his fucking Hawaian shirt. Would he even take his coat off? Probably not. It wasn't a sexy thought.

"Have you ever done this before?" Frenchie asked, way too conversationally.

"What, like, fucked a guy? Nope. I told Ezekiel that we fucked? But that was a giant lie. And also, uh, I was just kind of panicking, so I don't even know all the shit I said to him. It was relatively graphic, I guess. I'm glad I didn't actually fuck him. He's kind of gross. Like, morally, although the stretchy thing weirds me out, too." Hughie paused. "I did have a dream about Homelander when I was a teenager, though. That's pretty fucked up, in hindsight. Sorry. That's not at all what you asked."

"Best to leave the supes out of it," Frenchie agreed.

Then he touched him and Hughie's brain blanked out except for a steady, chanting chorus of _oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck._ It was better than kissing, it was like starbursts, like fucking supernovas, and it was all Hughie could do to stay sitting while Frenchie stroked him, skin to skin, without melting bonelessly into the cushions. Every time Frenchie dragged his hand down Hughie's dick, palm rough with callouses, it was like a shot of liquid heat straight to the base of his spine, building up by the second. Hughie was distantly aware that he was babbling, but he had no idea what the words were, and Frenchie was replying in breathless French.

"Okay," Frenchie said, after a few more strokes. "Hold tight. I'm going to blow your fucking mind."

Leaning in, grasping Hughie tight at the base, he sank down and swallowed him like a fucking porn star, and every last coherent thought fled Hughie's brain in a rush of rainbows and electric shocks. It was like the saturation in the room had been turned all the way up, every color blindingly vivid, shapes hazy around the edges. Staring down at Frenchie, Hughie could see his movements echo behind him in a trail. When he held out one hand to put it on Frenchie's head, he got distracted by his own fingers, glowy and swimming in the air. When he finally touched down, Frenchie's buzz cut felt amazing under his palm, soft and bristly at once, and every time the hairs pressed against his skin, shockwaves tingled up his arm to his heart.

He couldn't concentrate. He got lost in the wet, velvet heat of Frenchie's mouth, the slide of his throat, the pressure where his hands were holding onto Hughie's hips like he was anchoring him in place. The room swam around them like they were sitting at the bottom of a fish bowl, and Hughie kept losing time whenever he shut his eyes to catch his balance. But at the same time, the seconds stretched into minutes, and the orgasm he'd been so close to when Frenchie had been sucking bruises into his throat now didn't feel so desperate. He could hover on the edge of it forever, with everything soft and glowing all around him, and with Frenchie's mouth on him. Coming wasn't as important as getting lost in the moment. He patted Frenchie's face with a clumsy hand, leaning forward to trace a finger down his throat, feeling the bob of his own dick as Frenchie swallowed around him.

"Fuck," he breathed. "Fuck, you're so amazing. Has anyone ever told you that? Not just at this," he added quickly. "And not just with the guns and chemistry and shit, even though that's pretty amazing too. But you're just—you're so fucking _nice_. I know that's kind of lame, but watching you with Kimiko, how patient you are, and how you never treated me like an idiot even though I probably am one—"

Frenchie hummed around his dick and Hughie moaned, falling back against the cushions. "And also, this is the best blowjob of my life. Am I just saying this because of the drugs?"

Frenchie slid off with a wet sound, trailing spit. It shimmered like diamonds and Hughie reached out to touch Frenchie's lips, dark red and swollen.

"Nice is not the word for me," Frenchie told him, "but you are amazing too, no? Mon petit Hughie, killing supes so easily! Not everyone would have survived as long as you have. You are most impressive, mon ami."

Before Hughie could deny it, Frenchie was on him again. Hughie swore and bucked into it, too overwhelmed to remember his manners, but Frenchie didn't seem to mind. If anything, he seemed approving, sliding his hands between Hughie's ass and the couch cushions to pull him in closer, encouraging him to fuck his mouth.

"Jesus Christ," Hughie gasped, "holy fuck, I'm so close—"

Frenchie winked, pulled one hand free, and flashed him a thumbs-up.

"Shit," Hughie said weakly, and came.

It was a full-blown out-of-body experience. He astral projected off the couch, his consciousness hovering near the ceiling to watch himself as clouds gathered around him, pink and blue like cotton candy, the lines of the room's architecture standing out like a blueprint. It was a fucking religious experience. And there he was, splayed out on the couch like he'd just had the best lay of his life, Frenchie kneeling in between his legs with his lips still wrapped around Hughie's dick. Hughie could see every weave of fabric in his clothes, the plaid stripes on his pants, the individual vertebrae in his back where his crop top exposed that stripe of naked skin. Every hair on his head, every eyelash. There were tears caught in them, glimmering like dewdrops from when he'd deep-throated Hughie, and his lips were raspberry-red. Ceiling-Hughie would bet anything that he tasted like raspberry vodka if he kissed him right now, and suddenly, that was what he wanted to do more than anything.

Frenchie pulled off, saliva running down his chin in a thick rope. "J'aime quand tu me regardes comme ça," he murmured, and Hughie came crashing back into his body with a rush like he'd never felt, all the blood in his body whooshing through his veins like he could feel every single drop.

"Good?" Frenchie asked with a grin like he knew the answer.

"Fuck," Hughie said, and leaned in, grabbing him by the front of the shirt to haul him up within kissing distance. "Fuck," he repeated into Frenchie's mouth. He didn't taste like vodka—he tasted like, like fucking happiness, and comfort, and just a hint of chemical bitterness from whatever drugs he'd taken earlier. "Fuck, how do you want to get off? Tell me what to do."

"This was supposed to be for you," Frenchie said, between kisses. "To make you feel better, eh? So you tell me what you like, mon ami, and we do that."

"Literally anything," Hughie said immediately. "I've never felt this good in my life, so just—fucking anything, whatever you want, I'll probably love it." He paused, his hands framing Frenchie's face. "Do you want to fuck me? Let's do that."

Frenchie raised his brows. "Just now, you told me you had never done anything with a man before. You do not think you will regret this, when you have sobered up?"

"What, like, more than I regret taking Butcher up on his insane revenge kick and killing Transparent and everything else I've done in the past couple of weeks? We killed a _whale,_ man. This won't even make the top ten."

And sure, it might be the drugs talking, but also? Getting fucked by a guy for the first time while high out of his mind was exactly the kind of distraction he was looking for, and if the past half hour (longer? less? what was time, anyway?) was any indication, it was going to be mind-blowingly good sex.

Luckily, Frenchie wasn't the kind of guy to talk someone out of a decision they made while under the influence of seriously effective designer drugs.

"You have ever taken anything up the ass before?" Frenchie asked. "With a girlfriend, or by yourself?"

"Ha, uh, no. Nope. Never done that."

"Okay." Frenchie gave him a pat on the shoulder before twisting away from the couch to shuffle through a pile of crap on his worktable, throwing Hughie a smile over his shoulder as he went. "You leave it to me, yes? I will take care of this."

Hughie tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. Or was it the sky? The overhead lights looked like little universes spinning in the dark, and if he let his eyes slide just out of focus, he could see entire solar systems in each one, tiny planets circling each other, stars the size of dust specks shooting sparks back and forth. Once in a while the sparks rained down and caught in his eyelashes, and he when he blinked them away, bright shapes flashed behind his eyelids, in colors he had never seen before. Was this what Annie saw when she used her powers? He needed to ask, next time he talked to her.

"Hughie? You are still with me?"

He rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I'm here."

Frenchie pressed a water bottle into his hands. "Drink this before we start."

Hughie took a swig, thirstier than he'd realized. The water ran down his chin to his neck in rivers, the cold cutting a sharp path through the hot sparks that covered his skin. When he got through half the bottle, he set it aside, and when Frenchie didn't tell him to finish it, he stood and pushed in for another kiss. He couldn't stop smiling, and they bumped teeth and noses and knees as Frenchie gently manhandled him into position. They only broke the kiss when Frenchie turned him around and bent him over the arm of the couch, feet planted firmly on the floor and arms braced on the cushions.

"How do you say 'fuck me' in French?"

"Baise-moi."

Hughie shivered. "Baise-moi."

"Your accent, it needs a little work, but we will get you there. Ready?"

Hughie flattened himself forward, rubbing his cheek against the cushion. It felt like a giant animal, soft and warm. "Yeah."

Behind him, Frenchie laughed. "Okay, okay. You enjoy yourself over there, I will do my thing back here."

Frenchie didn't waste any time in dragging his jeans down and getting to work. Hughie should have felt vulnerable and self-conscious standing there like that, bent at the waist with his ass out, but all he felt was this incredible sense of _rightness._ This was exactly where he was supposed to be, doing exactly what he was supposed to do, and when Frenchie touched him, lube slippery and cold and burning at the same time, Hughie nearly shivered out of his skin with pleasure. Every single touch reverberated through his whole body. He could feel the pounding bass of Frenchie's music through the couch, thudding away like the pulse of the universe, the music notes thrumming through the air like colors following a current. When they glided over his hands, it felt like dipping his fingers in running water, and they left streaks of color behind on his skin after they passed.

Hughie wanted to know if Frenchie's dick would feel the same. He didn't realize he had said that aloud until he heard Frenchie laugh.

"Is it good?"

"Fucking amazing," Hughie said.

Frenchie slipped two fingers in without any resistance, whether because he was just using that much lube or because Hughie was more relaxed than he'd ever been in his life, still riding the afterglow from his first orgasm and his body all liquid and strung-out from the drugs. He groaned and squirmed, trying to buck his hips forward against the couch. He hadn't actually expected to come a second time—it seemed too soon, but he didn't really know how long they'd been like this—but apparently, that wasn't going to be a problem. He could feel the touch all the way from his toes to his fingertips, zinging along his scalp and down his spine.

"Okay, I need you to fuck me right now," he gasped. "Baise-moi, I'm ready, let's go."

"Yeah?"

"Definitely, yeah."

Hughie didn't turn around to watch Frenchie unzip his fly, but he heard the crinkle of a condom being opened, and the wet sound of more lube. Sucking in a deep breath, he watched the patterns in the couch fabric dance before his eyes, and then Frenchie lined up and pushed in, and Hughie's world exploded.

It was better than kissing, better than the blowjob. It was better than _sex._ He'd never felt closer to another person in his life, never had anyone touch him as deeply. He didn't have to speak for Frenchie to understand him: they were connected, mind to mind, brain to universe. When he wanted more, Frenchie gave it to him. When he wanted it faster, Frenchie grabbed him by the hips and doubled his pace. And when he felt so good he thought he might actually die, every single atom in his body fizzing like champagne and colors that didn't exist shimmering into the couch until he felt like he was floating, weightless, consciousness without a body, Frenchie curled over him and pressed him down, his chest against Hughie's back, threading their fingers together against the cushions.

"Oh god, I fucking love you," Hughie said without thinking, but it was true. He loved Frenchie, he loved sex, he loved drugs—he loved the whole fucking world, the whole universe, and everything and everyone in it. His whole body was made of love, liquid love running through his veins. He was stupidly, painfully, elatedly in love, and he never wanted to come down from it.

"Je t'aime, je t'aime," Frenchie mouthed into the back of his neck. "Tu me fais me sentir si bien, tu m'excite, je bande pour toi. Je t'aime."

Hughie could feel every thrust through his whole body, like Frenchie was fucking him so deeply they might meld together. The pressure built up higher and faster until Hughie was writhing from it, panting on every exhale, a wet spot on the couch under his chin where he kept pressing his open mouth to the cushion to smother his moans.

"I'm so close," he said into the cushion, trying to shove back to match Frenchie's rhythm while also jerking his hips forward to rub against the side of the couch.

"Then come," Frenchie said, biting his ear. "J'en veux, come on."

He let go of one of Hughie's hands to slide his in between Hughie's hips and the side of the couch, taking hold of him and stroking him off. It was the first time either of them had touched Hughie's dick since they'd started fucking, and Hughie came immediately, sobbing as he melted bonelessly into the couch.

"That's so fucking good," he managed, and then his brain shut off and all he could do was bask in the sensation, processing the parade of colors and the shift of musical notes in the air as Frenchie fucked him through the afterglow.

There was no discomfort this time, no overstimulation. Just the warm thread of Frenchie talking, pressing kisses in between his shoulder blades, and the spearing heat through his core that rocked him gently back and forth against the arm of the couch. They could do this forever and Hughie wouldn't even complain. He wasn’t sure whether he said that aloud, but if he did, Frenchie didn't disagree.

An eternity later, the feeling of Frenchie pulling out and the warm, wet slide of lube down his thighs brought Hughie back to himself.

"Good?" he asked hazily, unable to get his body to cooperate enough to straighten up or look over his shoulder.

"Very good," Frenchie promised.

Hughie heard the condom hit the garbage can in the corner and vaguely considered pulling his jeans up, but fuck it. That would take a lot of energy and coordination, and he felt perfect as he was.

"Hey, hey, you are falling asleep on me?" Frenchie asked, from very far away.

"Noo. No, nope." Hughie forced his eyes back open. "I'm here, I'm good."

"If you pass out on the couch, your back will not thank you after."

Yeah, maybe not sprawled over the arm of the couch like a landed fish. Hughie hefted himself up just enough to slide over the edge onto the couch cushions, worming his way down and getting comfortable.

"At least drink some more water first," Frenchie said. The amusement was clear in his voice, but so too was the knowledge that he was going to lose that fight.

Hughie waved one hand at him, eyes already shut again. "Later. Need a nap."

"You will feel no good when you wake," Frenchie warned. "Even worse if Butcher finds you like this, eh?"

That was probably true. Hughie made that one concession and dragged his jeans back up, clumsily putting himself away, but he was too far gone to work the zipper. He dropped his hands with a groan, darkness washing over him. Lights and colors were still dancing behind his eyelids, but they were slower now, and calmer, like tiny bioluminescent creatures drifting in the ocean. Dimly, he registered Frenchie's hands on him, doing up his jeans.

"Hey, thanks, man," he said blearily, reaching out blindly to pat him on the arm. "For everything. This was good. I needed it."

"Do not thank me until you have woken up. You feel good now, but maybe later, you regret it." But Frenchie caught Hughie's hand and held it as Hughie lost his last grip on consciousness and passed all the way out.

xXx

Hughie woke up on the couch with a knot in his neck, a pounding headache, and the driest mouth he'd ever had. His tongue was fuzzy, and cleaved to his palate. "Ugh," he said, wincing as he straightened. Frenchie sat on the floor by his feet, and when Hughie was obviously awake, he craned around to offer him a bright smile and a water bottle.

"Ah, Sleeping Beauty is alive? Here, drink. You need water."

Hughie accepted the bottle and drained it in seconds. His throat was so dry it hurt. "The hell," he croaked.

Frenchie handed him a Gatorade. "Now this. I did not make you drink enough before you passed out. Is my fault."

Hughie chugged the Gatorade back like he was trying to drown himself in it. When he was done, he felt a little better. His head was clearing, anyway. "So. We sure did that, huh?"

"We did," Frenchie confirmed with a blinding smile. "You remember much of it? You fell asleep so quickly, I could not tell."

"I remember." Hughie's face was burning. "Uh. I don't remember all the stuff I said to you? But I definitely remember. Doing it." Don't say fucking and sucking, he begged himself. Say anything except that.

"Ah, yes. You were very talkative. You did not tell me you spoke French!"

"I…don't?"

Frenchie placed one hand over his heart, beaming up at Hughie with soft, lovestruck eyes. "Mon aéroglisseur est plein d'anguilles. Truly, the one thing every man longs to hear from his lover in the throes of passion."

"Mon aéroglisseur…oh," said Hughie stupidly. "Right. Okay. So, I know enough French to say bonjour, j'taime—and baise-moi now, thank you, that's going to come in useful—and…that."

Frenchie nodded sagely. "My hovercraft is full of eels."

"Yeah. I used to watch all the old Monty Python skits with my dad, so now I can say that in like, five different languages." Hughie paused. "Wish I hadn't said it in the middle of sex, but okay."

"You are a man of culture, mon petit Hughie. I respect that." Frenchie held out one hand for a fist-bump, which Hughie obligingly returned.

"Um," Hughie said, awkwardness returning full force in the face of sobriety. "I know I said 'I love you' a few times, though. And I'm pretty sure you said it back?" He did a split second of intense soul-searching. Had he actually fallen in love with the man after an hour of really great, really high sex? No. Bullshit. He was just slightly less straight than previously thought. "But I don't. At least, not like that. I just wanted, uh. Are we on the same page with this?"

Frenchie sat up, joining Hughie on the couch and slinging his arm around his shoulders, mirroring the pose that had started it all. "My friend. Ecstasy is the drug of love! It is made for falling in love with everyone around you. You said you wanted a distraction, no? And I wanted to make you feel better. So, we fall in love for a few hours to get the job done." He shrugged. "It worked, did it not?"

"Yeah," Hughie agreed on a long exhale. "It definitely worked." There was still a hollow ache in his chest where Robin belonged, slowly filling up with something warm for Annie, but he felt less like dying now. He shifted, and the rest of his body came back online with a sudden flare of all the aches and pains he hadn't felt while he'd been unconscious. "Oh, fuck. Ow."

Frenchie laughed. "Ah, pardonne-moi. You will be sore for a short while, I think. Nothing a hot shower cannot fix, no?"

"Fuck." Hughie winced. "If we ever do this again, we're switching places." He froze. "Not that I'm assuming you want— You know."

"Tu peux me baiser quand tu veux. With or without the high, yes? Although I think you will miss the drugs, next time you have sex without them. Once you have fucked on MDMA?" Frenchie kissed his own fingertips, exaggerating the smacking noise. "There is nothing else like it."

"I can believe that."

Hughie was saved from continuing the conversation—or, god, from leaning in and kissing him again, because he kind of wanted to—by Butcher stomping down the stairs, coat flaring behind him like the overbearing Matrix extra that he was.

"What have you two wankers been up to? This whole place reeks of sex. Been buggering each other, have we?"

"Va te faire enculer," Frenchie responded cheerfully. To Hughie, he added, "Quel salaud, eh?"

"Quit corrupting the lad with your filthy fucking French," Butcher advised, pausing by the worktable to see whatever Frenchie had been working on earlier.

"You think it is only my language that is corrupting him? Putain, t'es rien qu'un petit connard."

"Oh, shut it."

"Did you tell him to go fuck himself?" Hughie wondered aloud. "It sounds so much better in French."

"Fuck is an excellent word. It is irreplaceable. But for Butcher it is important, I think, to swear in as many different ways as possible, to really get the point across."

"That's fair."

"If you're done chatting each other up," Butcher said, glaring them down—though not fiercely enough to hide the amused glint in his eye— "We've got a tower full of supes to take down. Where's MM?"

"He texted a few minutes ago, says he will be back soon," Frenchie offered. "And Kimiko…"

Kimiko crept out from around the corner, eyeing them both speculatively.

"Was she here the whole time?" Hughie whispered frantically.

Kimiko looked them both up and down, then flashed a series of signs too rapid for Hughie to follow, a smile curling on her mouth.

"She says it sounds like you had a very good time," Frenchie supplied. To Kimiko, he added, "You should have taken my headphones, mon cœur!"

She shrugged and gave them both a thumbs-up.

Hughie was blushing hard enough that he thought he might literally catch fire and die. Before Kimiko or Butcher could embarrass him further, MM arrived, and Hughie took a second to bury his face in his hands and pull himself together.

Frenchie nudged him, leaning in conspiratorily. "I know you have been through a lot. So, next time it gets to be too much, you come to me, eh? I lend a hand." With a wink, he pushed up from the couch to join the others.

Hughie stared after him for a second before following suit. His life had fallen apart in the blink of an eye, and he hadn't really seen the point in rebuilding it after Butcher came in like a fucking hurricane. He'd been okay with laying down and calling it quits. And he wasn't going to say that he'd had some kind of life-changing epiphany while spaced out on MDMA, and he definitely wasn't going to say that he wasn't still pretty fucked up, but maybe he could get through this. And if Frenchie wanted to help by offering sex and drugs and making him question his sexuality, then yeah, sure. He'd absolutely take it. And apart from the headache and the horrible dry mouth, he didn't regret a thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Pardon/Je suis désolé - I'm sorry  
> C'est bien - Good  
> J'ai envie de t'embrasser - I would like to kiss you  
> Oui, certainement - Yes, definitely  
> Quelques-uns - A few  
> Vraiment - Really/seriously  
> Mon ami - My friend  
> J'aime quand tu me regardes comme ça - I love it when you look at me like that  
> Baise-moi - Fuck me  
> Je t'aime - I love you  
> Tu me fais me sentir si bien - You make me feel so good  
> Tu m'excite - You turn me on  
> Je bande pour toi - I get hard for you  
> J'en veux - I want it  
> Mon aéroglisseur est plein d'anguilles - My hovercraft is full of eels  
> Pardonne-moi - Forgive me  
> Tu peux me baiser quand tu veux - You can fuck me whenever you want  
> Va te faire enculer - Go fuck yourself  
> Quel salaud - What a bastard  
> Putain, t'es rien qu'un petit connard - You're a fucking asshole


End file.
